


Forget Me Not II

by PandyMilkovich



Series: It Was A Good Life [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, Bittersweet Ending, Death (its peaceful and not described in detail), Future Fic, M/M, Seizures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:53:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4760669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandyMilkovich/pseuds/PandyMilkovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last few years, it was a good life. They lived a full and happy life together. OKAY? God, please don't kill me and remember you asked for this. This is for all my brave little toasters who asked for the second part,</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Omg. Un'betad. Probably FILLED with mistakes. Please forgive them.
> 
> Obviously, you should read Forget Me Not before this. This is the second part to that.

Ian bobbed his knee up and down as he listened to the doctor and nurse rattle off everything that was wrong with Mickey. There was nothing wrong with Mickey. He was just sick, Ian knew the difference but didn't argue it. 

Mickey was home with Yev and the kids, grand and great, while Ian signed all the paperwork for Mickey to be admitted the next day. 

"Any other questions?" the doctor asked. 

"Yeah, how often can I see him?" Ian rubbed at his legs, curling his wrinkled fingers at his knees. 

"Everyday, visiting hours start at breakfast. You're welcome to join, and they end at eight at night." the nurse, Rachel, explained. 

Ian nodded but said nothing. Seven to eight, thirteen hours, that was good. He guessed. 

"Okay, so if you're ready, we have some questions about your husband," Rachel said warmly, a sweet smile painted on her face. 

Ian sighed and rubbed at his mouth. Answering questions about Mickey suddenly seemed hard. He had been with him for over sixty years and still was the only one who understood him. Explaining him to others seemed overwhelming, like they wouldn't understand. They'd try to tell him things like they just did. That something is wrong with him. 

"If you want we can do the tour first." Rachel broke through his thoughts, and Ian was grateful that she sensed the sadness in him. How could she miss it when he face was soaked in it. 

"Yeah, that would be great," Ian said after he cleared his throat. 

They all stood, and that was when the doctor excused herself, she wasn't needed for the tour, and Rachel lead Ian to the elevators. 

"So how long have you and Mickey been together?" she asked as a way to fill the silence and settle Ian's worry. It didn't work.

"Sixty one years." Without warning a thought came to his mind, and he broken happiness showed on his face. 

"Oh wow," Rachel replied in amazement. "So high school sweethearts?"

Ian let out a small breath with a laugh lingering on it as a smirk splashed across his face. "Not even close."

Rachel smiled up at him, she looked bewildered. When the doors opened to the third floor Ian nearly began to cry. 

There was a nurse's station right when he stepped off that looked into a large dining area and rec room. The walls were all glass, and they looked like they were observing a zoo exhibit. 

Behind the glass were loud beeps, shouting, all sorts of noises, and screaming - Mickey would hate it. The loud bellows of the old man Ian watched through the window sounded like Terry, he knew it would trigger Mickey. There was another woman banging a toy phone on the table, that would annoy Mickey. There were two nurses aids heaving a woman from a stationary chair into a wheeled one, the woman was completely unable to move on her own, Mickey could move. Suddenly Ian felt overwhelmed and he began to sweat slightly. 

There was a woman Ian's age who took his attention. She was at the nurse's station, screaming her head off, asking when the next bus was leaving, followed by a nurse telling her the busses her canceled that day. 

"The El then?" she shouted. 

"Closed for weather," a nurse replied breezily. Ian knew she had said it to the woman at least a dozen times. He looked out the window next to him, sunshine. 

The woman smacked the desk, grabbed her walker and headed for the hall. 

"Don't wander too far, Tessa," Rachel called after her. 

"Yeah, yeah, worry about your own problems," Tessa fired back, and kept trekking along. 

Ian noticed an ankle bracelet around Tessa's sock, it looked like the one Fiona once wore, and wondered what that was about. 

"You okay?" Rachel looked to Ian.

Ian was nervous and scared. This place was not for Mickey. There were men and woman screaming, others looked like vegetables. Some just grunted as they drooled, and others who were being fed by loved ones. This was not a place for Mickey. 

"No, I-I can't, I'm sorry." Ian trembled as he headed back to the elevator. 

Once he was inside, he was glad Rachel didn't follow, he grabbed the arm rail and leaned his head against the wall. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

Mickey wasn't like them. He could walk, eat, talk, stand. He knew who he was, he knew the weather, he didn't need to be here. 

When he got down to the ground floor, after a short stop to let some women in wheelchairs on at the second floor, he practically rushed out of the building. He felt like he was suffocating in guilt. Mickey had been in and out of lock up his whole youth, and now Ian was locking him up again. 

He sat on the bench outside and rubbed at his eyes, stopping the tears that perched there, and let out a sign. After a moment in the warm sun, relaxing him a little bit, he got up and fished for his keys in his pocket. 

"Mr. Milkovich," he heard Rachel's voice distantly. She was jogging to catch up to him and Ian stopped, slightly embarrassed for rushing off. 

"You okay?" she asked. 

"No." Ian answered honestly. "I'm just going to take care of him." he decided. He wouldn't put Mickey there, he couldn't. 

Rachel's eyes softened on him, sympathy pouring from her as he met her gaze. 

"I know it's hard, and that place is overwhelming and a little scary at first," she started and Ian waited for the but, "but your husband has stage one dementia, and bad lungs." She told Ian what he already knew. "He'll be in good hands, I promise you, and if you want to see how he does on the first floor we can," she compromised. 

"First floor?" Ian asked with intrigue. 

"Yes, we have a unit for people who are just entering the disease, it's more like assisted living," she explained. "After looking at Mickey's medical file, I don't know how long we can keep him there, but I think we can give it a try."

Ian agreed to see the first floor and it was much more his speed. For starters, it was quiet. Everyone was either walking or used walkers. They were dressed nicer, cleaner. They were holding conversations, playing games, watching television, just like Mickey did. He relaxed at the sight and took a tour of the rooms. 

Mickey would have a private room, Ian made sure. It was a small bed, a size he hadn't slept in since they were teenagers. Ian was suddenly welcomed with another memory, and smiled. 

"Can we move the bed?" Ian asked Rachel.

"It is on wheels!" she informed merrily. 

"Good, he likes to face the door when he sleeps," he said of the bed that had the foot of it parallel to the door. That wouldn't do. It needed to be turned. 

"What else do I need to know about Mickey?"  

Ian paused a moment, sorting through the extremely thick file he had on Mickey in his mind, when he caught something in the distance. A nurse's aid was entering a bedroom unannounced and Ian immediately spoke up. 

"Always knock," he blurted out. "You have to knock softly before going in."

Ian remembered Mickey told him once that Terry would either enter his room quietly like a snake hunting rats, or with a roaring boom. He never knocked. In order for Mickey to feel safe, and know he wasn't back in the home of a monster, they had to knock. 

"Noted," she nodded.

They ended the tour and headed back into the office, where Rachel finished up the paperwork and asked a few more questions. 

"Is he violent or combative?" she asked. Ian felt his sorrow creep up on him again, then nodded lightly.

"Okay, he'll have a wristband that says so." Rachel explained. "I want you to know that he's safe though. These aids and nurses are trained to handle it, he'll be safe."

That relieved something in Ian, he was scared the aids wouldn't understand and try to fight back. 

"Was he always combative, or just during a certain age?" Rachel asked.

"Uhm, no not always, when we were younger. Probably his whole childhood til his twenties."

"Okay, we'll ask him how old he is before we approach him, that gives us an idea of where he's at with his behaviors."

"Okay." Ian's hands trembled for some reason. 

"Does he wander a lot?" 

Ian recalled a few weeks ago. "Yeah, I uh, I had to go out looking for him a few weeks ago, he was down the street." That was a painful reminder he wasn't cut out to take care of Mickey. He couldn't leave him out of his sight. 

"Okay, that's fine, we have wander tags. It'll beep and alert the nurses if he's by an exit." Rachel showed Ian the same device Tessa was wearing upstairs.

Ian raked his hand through his hair. It was all too much, too sad. He couldn't believe that he was sitting here, but he knew he had to be.

There were a few more questions, Ian barely made it through the last fifteen minutes before getting impatient. He wanted to get home to Mickey and spend the day with him. Their last night in the same bed. Something he's been doing for sixty years, and didn't want to think about how it'll feel without his arm wrapped around Mickey anymore. 

"That's all, I'll be here tomorrow morning when you bring him in." Rachel shut the folder in her desk and stood up.

"Afternoon, I'll bring him in the afternoon," Ian amended. He was going to wake up and make Mickey breakfast, pour his coffee and spend the day with him. He had to. 

"Okay, he has an appointment at 3:30 so anytime before then," Rachel agreed. 

"Thank you," Ian said then turned to leave. 

His chest tightened and his eyes began to water as he headed to his car. The swirl of emotions were making him a little dizzy, a way he never expected. He was sad, guilty, apprehensive, tired, worried, but mostly he was just sad. 

He always knew he and Mickey would grow old together, but this isn't what he saw. Nothing was easy with them, though, so he guessed he should have seen it coming.

Ian thought about the middle though, those years from twenty five to seventy five, those were nothing short of perfect. Fifty years of love, and kids and grand kids; laughing, moving, vacations, a marriage, stupid fights, big fights. It was a really good fifty years, and Ian settled on lucky, that's what he was. 

He checked his phone before pulling away and there was a text from Yev. 

_He's really good today. Remembered Clayton even._

And then it was back, guilt. Whenever Mickey had moments of lucidity Ian would convince himself he was okay. It was foolish and a little naive, but it made his insides stab with regret at what he was doing. 

He drove home, deciding he excited to see Mickey lucid again, and tried to cover his guilt but failed. He felt the tears leave his eyes before he even knew he was crying, and tried to regain composure before pulling up to his house; he managed.

He got out of the car and thought he was walking faster. Clayton and Alexis, grown with kids of their own, rushed Ian and hugged him. 

"Hey Gramps," Alexis smiled, with her arms wrapped tightly around him. She was thirty nine with two kids of her own and always Ian's favorite. 

"Hey sweet face," he said and kissed her head, before pulling away and looking around. His heart was racing, afraid he had missed Mickey. "Where is he?"

"Napping," Clayton said, and wrapped his arms around Ian as well. "Kids are outside with dad." Clayton gestured out the back window where Ian saw his son, a grandfather, watching little ones. 

"Okay, I'm just gonna go see him real quick," Ian excused himself and gestured his head toward the room, and Alexis began to cry. 

"What's the matter?" Ian asked tenderly, even though he had a feeling. 

"I'm just worried about you," she softly cried. 

"It's okay, I'll be fine. I still got him, no matter where he is." Ian said, and it was true.

No matter where they were, down the street or a world apart, Ian would always be Mickey's, he'll always have him. Sixty plus years of memories will do that. 

"Yeah, but who's got you?" Alexis sniffed. 

Ian's heart was on the brink of crushing when he responded with stinging eyes. "He does, nothing will change that."

With that, Ian watched Clayton wrap his sister up, and headed into his room. There was Mickey, laying in bed on his side with his eyes closed, breathing peacefully. Ian wiped the tear that fell and approached the bed quietly to lay next to him. 

Mickey opened his eyes from the disturbance and looked at Ian puzzlingly. Ian's heart sank, Mickey didn't recognize him, the moment of lucidity had come and gone and Ian missed it.

"It's me," he told him, broken. 

Mickey raised his eyebrows then narrowed his eyes and sighed. 

"Ian," he elaborated, budding frustration peaking through the hurt. 

"I know, I'm just fuckin' with ya," Mickey smiled, and laced their hands together. 

"You're a dick," Ian laughed. 

The two laid in a comfortable silence facing each other, the few inches of space was filled with words they'd never say and the things they both felt. 

"I won't forget you," Mickey said after a minute, and Ian nodded weakly. "How can I when I've known you all my life?" Mickey smirked, repeating Ian's exact words from the week prior. "Might hate you from time to time, but I can't forget you," he added to try and lighten the mood. 

"I think it's time to admit you never hated me," Ian smiled. 

Mickey leaned forward and pressed their lips together gently. 

"Yeah, you're probably right," he agreed. "I love you." Mickey wiped the stray tear from Ian's cheek. A tear he didn't know was there. Crying had been status quo, he never knew when it stopped and began. 

Ian's heart broke and filled at the same time. Mickey hadn't initiated that sentence since this whole thing started, and if Ian wasn't already laying down, his legs would have given out. 

"I love you too," his voice cracked as he said it. 

 "Listen, it's gonna be fine, okay?" Mickey rested his hand on Ian's face, and stroked his thumb over his cheekbone. 

Ian leaned into the touch, locking the feeling in his mind for safe keeping. He placed a hand over the one on his face and shut his eyes. 

"Let's get this talk over with before I lose it again," Mickey said. "When am I going?" He asked, and Ian opened his eyes to look at him, "don't feel guilty, okay? I did it twice with you. I never want you to feel what I felt. I get it." Mickey began to tear up, and Ian wondered if he was recalling both incidents when Ian had to go to the hospital, or if he was scared of his pending living situation. 

Ian nodded, then rolled into Mickey, taking up the opportunity for the shorter man to comfort him while he still knew who he was. 

Mickey rubbed at his back and kissed his head. Ian felt the hot tear land on his thinning hair, and held Mickey tighter. 

"I love you, don't forget that. We had a good life," Mickey said softly. "Even if I was a dick."

"Loved you anyway," Ian answered. 

"Only one who ever did."

Ian leaned back, and looked into Mickey's eyes. He took in the sight, let his heart fill. His eyes were the only thing that didn't age, perfect blue, and always looked at Ian the same. 

"Only one who ever will," Ian mended, and kissed him again. 

When they pulled apart, Mickey looked at him again, studied his face. Ian knew he was fleeting, and brought his hands up for Mickey to inspect. 

"It's you." Mickey said with relief.

"Yeah, what do you want for breakfast tomorrow, or should I guess?" Ian changed the subject.

"You know what I want."

"Pancakes it is," Ian smiled. 

"Coffee and bacon too," Mickey added. 

"Done."

The men sat looking at each other's eyes, not saying much, and letting the emotions take them as they came. They sat there for what felt like forever. Mickey didn't forget Ian, not for a second. 

Ian wanted to concrete this moment, just have this be it, but that's not how it works. He knew they'd have to fall asleep and when they did, it would be the last time they ever would together. 

Finally, after everyone left without saying goodbye, sensing they shouldn't disturb the men, and four hours of laying there, they fell asleep. Ian dreamt about Mickey. Mickey when he was young, slick back hair, sucking the life out of a cigarette, annoyed and adorable, then breaking his tough exterior to shoot Ian a smile. 

**

The next day

Mornings have never been Mickey's time, so Ian didn't hold it against him when he was grumpy. He made the promised pancake and bacon breakfast, and listen to Mickey ramble on about the fucking Gallaghers. 

"I just don't get 'em, he was sick...and they...fuckin' gone," he rambled. 

"Who was sick?" Ian asked, just wanting to hear the answer, and Mickey blushed. 

"My boyfriend," he muttered. Ian remembered what Rachel said, and asked Mickey how old he was. 

"Twenty, why?"  

Twenty was probably the roughest year on Mickey. The lost year, as Ian calls it. Ian and Mickey hadn't seen each other for a year after that break up on the porch. Ian had no idea where he went, never asked. After six months of working it out, getting back together was something that was unavoidable. 

"What's he like?" Ian was curious to hear about this lost year.

"Well for starters, he's a fuckin prick," Mickey said and Ian laughed. "I get it though, he was sick, needed to take care of himself. Indiana blows, but Mandy isn't so bad. Leaves me alone, doesn't push me to talk about it." 

_Indiana_ , Ian thought, _knew it_!

"I miss him," Mickey said absently, looking down at his plate, shy and embarrassed.

"He misses you too," Ian said, as his heart and mind went back there. Somehow, healthy and unwell, both men sat thinking the same thing, and Ian was oddly comforted by it.

They finished up breakfast and Ian asked Mickey if he wanted a cigarette, bad lungs or not, he was going to make sure Mickey did the things he loved before he left. 

"Yeah." Ian got up to get the pack that was hidden, along with Mickey's sweater. 

They walked side by side on the street as Mickey smoked. Ian had his hands tucked into his pockets as he admired Mickey in the sunlight. His skin still a delicate alabaster shade, and his hair shined in the light. He had few wrinkles, he used to think he had a lot, but not after seeing the people the day before. He aged well, he heard that about men anyway, and Ian had to admit he was happy to be spared in the wrinkles department as well.

He watched Mickey smoke, all the years still it was still the same. Sharp inhale, slow exhale, a cloud of smoke billowed in front of him. Then Mickey looked up at Ian, something flickered across his eyes, then down to Ian's side. 

"Can I, uh, can I see your hand?" He asked Ian. 

"Yeah, and how old are you?" 

"Just gimme your hand," Mickey demanded impatiently. 

Ian bit back the smile and showed Mickey his hand, and Mickey mirrored Ian's attempt at hiding a grin when he realized. He didn't say a word, just laced their fingers together and continued down the road. 

Two thirty approached faster than Ian wanted it to, and he got Mickey in the car with little fight. Ian turned the key in the ignition, but didn't put it in reverse. He held the wheel tightly, then looked over at Mickey. 

"I'm sorry," he said, with stinging eyes and his heart knotted. "I love you, okay? Please please don't forget that." The tears were back and Ian was sick of crying, he just wanted it all to stop. The guilt and pain was almost too much.

Mickey took a minute to assess Ian, looked him over, and the way Mickey's blue eyes lit up and warmed on him, somehow made the pain worse. 

"I love you too." Mickey began to tear up, he knew. He knew where he was headed. "Let's just go, it's okay. I love you. It's okay." Mickey repeated, and leaned over quickly to kiss Ian. Mickey laced their fingers together, and Ian pulled away.

Once they got there, Mickey had managed to forget where they were headed. Ian didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, he guessed he'd find out. 

Ian had never been so nervous in his life. He was scared, worried, distraught, self loathing, but he knew it needed to be done. He helped Mickey out of the car, and lead him in. 

"Fuck is this place?" Mickey asked, looking around. 

"New apartment," Ian lied and fought hard not to crumble.

His stomach twisted, the emotion were fighting valiantly to overtake him. His heart couldn't bare another blow, and Ian felt like he was on the brink of shattering.

Rachel was there as promised, and led the men to Mickey's room. Mickey took a look around, and seemed calm for the moment, before speaking up. 

"Bed's too small," he commented, and Ian shot him a look of guilt, with a sorrowful apology lingering in the green. Mickey seemed to catch on and nodded, as he palmed his eyes. "Oh," he realized. 

"We're gonna put this around your ankle," Rachel said, holding up the wander device. 

It was a split second of a moment. Mickey's eyes went from hurt, to fear, to innocence, then he tensed up. 

"I didn't do anything!" he shouted. Ian knew. He knew Mickey would react this way. 

Ian grabbed at his forearms, and tried to get his attention. "Hey, hey. It's not that, you're not in trouble." Ian tried, knowing Mickey thought it was a house arrest tag. 

Mickey's eyes coated over with a child-like fear, and he snapped. He shook Ian off of him, and squared his shoulders. 

"No, no. I ain't fucking goin'. I didn't do anything!" He protested. 

"Mr. Milkovich," Rachel tried to cut in, and there it was again, a snap. 

Mickey turned his head toward Ian, and charged him. 

"Fuck you, you did this. You called. Where's Mandy? I'll have her ass call the cops on you. Lock you up." Mickey went on and on as he punched Ian. Ian's burned with sorrow when he realized he was Terry again. 

Rachel hit a button as Ian regained his composure, and grabbed Mickey's face. 

"Hey!" Ian snapped. "It's me. It's Ian, he's dead. We're fine. Mandy is fine." Mickey squirmed free of his hold, and headed for the door. 

Ian grabbed his arm and whipped him around. Mickey quickly punched him, missing, then spat on him instead. 

"I'm not going back to juvie, fuck you!" he seethed. 

Just then, Ian watched as two male nurses grabbed Mickey at either elbow, and held him firmly as they tried to lead him to the bed. 

"Fuck off me," he yelled. 

Ian watched the scene play out from where he sat on the floor in the corner. His heart was weak. There was sharp pain, and it was throbbing. Seeing Mickey like this, Ian felt hopeless. He wasn't sad for himself, he would take the force of a million stabs, if only to take this nightmare away from Mickey. 

Two hours later, Mickey was being transferred to a room on the third floor. 

***

One week later

Mickey took a hard and fast turn in his illness. Within the week, his hip gave out during a brawl with a nurse he thought was Ned. He was in bed recovering and Ian was up on the floor at seven on the dot with food in hand. 

He knocked softly on the door. 

"Fuck, what?" Mickey grumbled from the other side of the door. 

"It's Ian."

"Fuckin' finally, come in." 

When Ian opened the door, Mickey was laying there withered away. They couldn't get him to eat since he had been there. 

He noticed Mickey's eyes light up then dim immediately. 

"You're not him. Liar." There was no inflection in his tone which somehow made it worse. 

It never failed to hurt Ian when he said that. He didn't muster the strength for the hand trick, it hadn't worked at all that week, and he was trying to spare himself from that heartbreak. 

"Here." Ian flashed the McDonald's bag at Mickey, hoping it would peak his interest. 

"Not hungry. Gotta go take care of something important." He grumbled, tossing the remote in his hand, and trying to get up. 

"No, no," Ian rushed to his side. "What is it? I'll do it."

Mickey eyed Ian up and down. "No, he won't come back for you. He doesn't know you."

"Who?" 

"Ian, Christ. Keep up," Mickey huffed, and Ian smirked. 

"Where is he? I'll talk to him for you, say you sent me." He tried.

"I don't know." Mickey rubbed at his eyes from under his glasses. "I think...I think he's in Boystown." 

"Probably." Ian said. "You care about him?" Ian asked with a blush. 

Mickey darted his eyes side to side and sucked in the corner of his lip. 

"I guess, yeah."

Ian smiled, but it quickly faded when he thought back to how he treated Mickey all those years ago. It wasn't fair. 

"I don't know." Mickey added, then suddenly his body tensed up, and he started to convulse. 

Mickey's mouth went slack, with his eyes darted up to the ceiling, his body twitched and seized, as Ian was forced to look on. 

Ian's pulse quickened, and fear took over as he rushed to Mickey's side.

"Mick, Mickey!" Ian placed a hand on him. "Mick, it's me, it's Ian." He started to cry, as he watched the man he loved have a seizure. A seizure that was induced from talking about him. 

The nurses flooded in the room and asked Ian to step aside. 

"Call the ambulance!" Rachel shouted, as she took his pulse.

"Mick," Ian said weakly. "Mick, I'm right here." Ian cried to no one. 

When the ambulance arrived, Ian didn't hesitate to go along for the ride with Mickey. There was an oxygen mask on his face and he was sound asleep. Ian took his hand, and rubbed at the faded tattoos before he kissed them. 

Always a perfect fit. 

"I'm right here," he whispered, and rested his lips on Mickey's knuckles. 

***

4 months later.

"Good morning, Mr. Milkovich." Rachel smiled when he saw Ian step off the elevator. 

"Hi Rachel, he good?" 

"Yeah, he's been looking for his hands all morning," she smiled. "He's in his room. Oh, he's on thickened liquids now, he's been having trouble with swallowing and choking," she explained and Ian nodded. 

He knew Mickey's speech was slurred since the seizures, and more often than not, he elected not to speak at all, but this information killed him a little more. He had read up on thickened liquids and knew it was the beginning of a descend.

He entered Mickey's room, who was sitting in his wheel chair gazing out the window, looking at the baseball field in the distance, and smiled to himself, hoping Mickey was thinking the same thing he was.

"Hey," Ian greeted quietly, and Mickey turned his head. 

As soon as the blue eyes locked with his green, something in Ian settled. 

"Hi," Mickey replied with trepidation. Mickey reached for his glasses and put them on, and inspected Ian again. No lightbulb lit up. 

"How'd ya sleep?" Ian asked. 

"It was cold," Mickey responded flatly, and Ian understood. 

Everyday for the past four months have been cold for him, too. There was a pang in his heart, and the longing for a better day was strong. 

"Do you, um, do you wanna," Ian started, feeling like a hopeful fool. "Do you want to see my hands? Heard you've been looking around for the right pair." 

Mickey narrowed his eyes in thought, then nodded. Ian sat on the edge of the bed next to Mickey's wheel chair, and placed his hand in Mickey's. Without a shred of hesitation or one moment of doubt, for the first time in three months, Mickey knew whose hand he was holding. He reached for Ian's shoulder, failing to grip it in his weak state, and Ian leaned into him. He wrapped Mickey in his arms and both men cried. 

"You're late," Mickey said, and the words cut Ian like a knife.  

"I was always here, Mick." Ian said, feeling like he did sixty years ago, then smoothed down Mickey's hair. 

Mickey tried to grip him tighter, but his hand was weak. His joints were locked, causing his fingers to be permanently fisted. So Ian held him tighter for the both of them. His heart felt like it could burst, and his body tingled with happiness then he remembered, he's sad. Always sad. 

"I love you." Ian said, before the moment passed. 

"I love you too," Mickey began to sob, and Ian's heart was back to broken. "Stay." 

"I will." Ian promised, and he did.

He stayed till Mickey forgot who he was, was there when he remembered again. He listened to him talk, his voice was weak, about Mandy. Ian helped him eat, feeding him his thick soup, while he pushed back the pain in his heart. Then the nurse came in to administer his meds. 

"He'll be loopy," she warned Ian who nodded. He was all too familiar with the effects of medication. 

Mickey took them willingly, then the aids came in to put him in bed. Ian stood alongside of them as his husband's slack body was moved from chair to bed, and he stopped the girls before they tucked him in. 

"I got it," he cut in. 

He pulled the blanket over Mickey's shoulder and watched him struggle to get his hand under the pillow. Ian inched it along, and helped Mickey get it in the right spot. 

"Thanks, Joey." Ian nodded with threatened tears. "Tell mom I miss her when you find her." 

"I will," Ian promised, and kissed his head. Ian looked at his watch, almost time to go, and Rachel came in with the reminder. 

"Can I stay? Just till he falls asleep?" Ian asked. 

Rachel looked at Mickey then Ian, saw how their hands were laced together, and nodded. 

"Yeah," she smiled and Ian thought he saw her wipe a tear. 

 

***

3 months later

It was one in the morning when Ian's phone rang. The noise finally woke him. He shivered in his lonely cold room before grabbing his glasses. Yev. 

"Yev, what's wrong?" Ian asked, still tired and confused from being asleep moments ago. 

"The nursing home just called." 

Ian's heart plummeted into his stomach, he didn't want to hear it, he couldn't. No. 

"No," he began to tear up. "Yev, no." 

"No, but it's close." Yev said, and it left no comfort to Ian. "I'm on my way now, they said he's modeling, whatever the fuck that is, and they didn't want to wake you." 

"I'll be right there." Ian fumbled out of bed, searched for respectable clothes and was out the door in no time. 

He pulled up and raced out of the car. His heart throbbed hard in his chest in fear of hearing news he didn't want, but at the same time he didn't want to miss. When he got up to the floor it was nearly two, and Yev was outside Mickey's door. His face soaked with tears. 

"Dad," he called out when he noticed Ian, and Ian thought he sounded so young.

Yev wrapped around Ian, and cried. "He remembered me. Me, me, not young me." He said through his sobs.

"Good, that's good." Ian said, and it was, but he was weary. Mickey hadn't regarded Yev as any other age but seven. "Shh," Ian soothed his son who couldn't fight the tears. 

Yev pulled off and wiped his eyes and nose. "Go."

"He's still?"

"Yeah."

Ian walked in quietly and sat in the chair next to Mickey, his breaths were shallow and his eyes were closed. As soon as Ian grabbed his hand he began to cry. Mickey had long since lost the ability to speak properly, he spent a lot of the time at a shouted whisper, before the energy it took to speak won.

"Ian." Mickey managed to get out.

"Yeah," Ian swallowed down the lump in his throat. "It's me."

"Perfect..." he trailed.

"Shh, I know. Perfect fit." Ian whispered. "I'm right here." 

Ian's heart was fading, he felt it as he watched Mickey slip further and further away.

"I love you, I'm right here."

"Com'ere" Mickey struggled.

Ian leaned in and smoothed a hand over Mickey's hair and kissed his forehead.

"I love you," Mickey trembled, "it was a good life." 

"I love you too. Mick, I love you. Don't forget that."

"I can't." Mickey said, and opened his beautiful, unchanging blue eyes. "Now go."

"No." Ian shook his head, tears landing on Mickey's face.

"Ian, ya gotta go," and it sounded like it took every last bit of energy he had. 

"Mick, no." 

"I love you. Please..." Mickey pleaded. 

Ian kissed his hand, and looked at the tattoos one last time. He knew he had to go, he knew Mickey wanted him to go. He knew he didn't want that to be the last memory when there were so many better ones. 

"I love you too, I love you too." 

Ian felt his heart give out, not knowing if he could stand he called for Yev who came in. 

"We gotta go," Ian said. 

With a mind just like his father's, Yev nodded in understanding. He leaned down and kissed his dad one last time. 

"I love you dad," and Mickey smiled. 

"You were a good kid," he said. And Yev began to silently sob. "I love you too, bud." 

"Come on," Ian said through tears. His heart was crushing, and he could feel it getting weaker and weaker. He kissed Mickey's hand, and didn't look back when he walked away. 

Ian held onto Yev the whole elevator ride down, he needed to be a parent now, but had to admit, if he wasn't holding onto Yev he would have collapsed. 

By the time they got to the lobby, Yev had settled down.

"I'll drive you home," he insisted and Ian nodded. 

The car ride was silent. Ian fiddled his hand in his lap as he watched the tears land on them. He looked over at Yev, the son him and Mickey raised together and smiled, it was a good life. 

"You were a good kid," Ian agreed with Mickey, and Yev looked over and nodded. 

"You guys weren't so bad either." He smiled, then sniffled. 

They pulled up to the house moments later, and Yev hugged his dad again as he cried. And Ian thought he knew. Knew what Ian knew to be true, too. 

Ian walked in the house he shared with Mickey and remembered the middle, the good parts.

Ian was tired, so tired. He fiddled for the box in the closet and took out their marriage certificate. Then he felt it, his heart hallowed and the breath was taken from him, he knew. 

He laid in bed and gripped the paper. He shut his eyes as the tears kept pouring. He saw him and Mickey, matching suits standing hand in hand. They were smiling at eachother, and Ian felt the moment in his chest. A melody entered Ian's mind, one he hadn't thought of in ages. And then...it was peaceful. 

 

* * *

 

 

The melody in Ian's head was this [song](https://youtu.be/AVsusdrWlKA).


	2. After That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is some corny Titanic shit because I can't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd

There he was, young again. His hair was slicked back, jet black. Cut off shirt and old jeans. He was biting his lip and pacing when he turned around and spotted a tall red head, just as young as him.

"Finally," he huffed.

"Waiting long?" Ian asked.

"Nah, just a few seconds, but it felt longer," he said. "Missed ya."

"Missed you too," Ian smiled. "Do you remember?" He asked curiously.

"Course I do." He responded with a smirk.

They laced their hands together, and walked to the unknown.

_Always a perfect fit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jfc get this away from me. Never again will I write sad fic. Holy shit. I love you guys. I'm crying too.

**Author's Note:**

> *modeling is when the body slowly turns black from the toes up as your body starts to shut down. 
> 
> *ending (the nursing home scene) based on true events.


End file.
